Beyond the Red
by CallintheAsset
Summary: Natasha searches for gaps in her past, leading her to The Winter Soldier while at the same time James Buchanan Barnes rediscovers his identity and the past he had after the fall during WWII. Rated M for language and mature situations. Sorry my summary isn't profound. I hope to make that up with a good story to read. :)
1. Chapter 1

The sun was shining and it was a pleasant fall day in the District despite the crispness of the air. They all met at Nick's grave in Arlington Cemetery one last time. Natasha had declined to help any of them, claiming the need to figure things out and perhaps come up with a different cover now that all hers were blown. That…and she needed answers. Since the fight with The Winter Soldier, she had had flash backs, most of which appeared disconnected to anything she recalled in her life. Some sort of fragmented memories that haunted her and she wasn't content to sit on them any longer, she decided, absently touching her shoulder. The gunshot wound was nearly healed but still remained a bit tender to the touch. She never told Steve or anyone else about the random memories or the fact that she sought answers to her past where gaps existed. It was a rare thing for her to open her heart or lay bare her soul to anyone. She didn't want to appear weak in front of others and let's face it her job didn't lend itself to trust. That was a dangerous thing in this line of work.

After wishing everyone well, Natasha parted ways with Nick, Steve and Sam at Nick's grave. Each had their own agenda. Steve was going after Bucky and Sam decided to help him. That would keep them occupied for some time. Neither of them had any idea how to go about looking for Bucky. She and Sam both warned him that Bucky would not be the same man he knew. Steve would never give up on him though. She knew from the time they had spent together that Steve blamed himself for what happened to Bucky. He felt responsible despite her telling him emphatically that he was not the cause of who Bucky was now. Bucky would never be the same man from his childhood.

Nick was off to resume his life in the shadows to flesh out the remaining Hydra bases in Europe. Nick flourished in the shadows. He could disappear as he wished now that he was supposed to be deceased and she envied him a little, lamenting the fact that privacy and secrecy would be hard to come by for her now. She knew that it was going to be harder for her, given the decision she made hastily.

So be it, she thought quietly, walking back from the cemetery. As the afternoon wore on, the temperature in D.C was starting to cool, and would have made the walk pleasurable if she hadn't had so much on her mind. It had to happen, she told herself. Now that it was all out in the open no one could hide within SHIELD, HYDRA, or any government agency with the ease with which they had enjoyed previously. For good or ill, everything was laid bare for all to see.

Natasha made it back to the safe house where she was staying after the media hell had played out. It was an old house, probably built in the early 1900's, though she wasn't sure. The white clapboard house had a quaint feel to it but was in sad need of repair. It worked well for her though, since the neighborhood as a whole wasn't very popular, well maintained, or posh. Most stayed out unless they lived there, lending itself to the privacy she needed. Natasha walked in through the back door and made her way to the bedroom. She never really had much in the way of belongings, given how much she moved around. She went to her closet, grabbed a bag and gathered up some clothes and her weapons. The weeks after the fall of Triskelion, knowing she needed a new cover, she had reached out to one of her former contacts in New York to call in that favor they owed her. Luckily they made good on their promise and quickly sorted out a new passport and other documents that she would need. She was glad now that she had thought to do this; otherwise she would be delayed in her plans. She went to the closet and ripped up the carpet, uncovering the floor boards. Finding the loose one, she pried it up and retrieved her documents and passport. It wasn't the best of hiding places but it worked well enough for the short time she was there.

She took a final look around, absently touching the scar on her stomach. Fingering the texture of the gunshot wound caused the memory of the events in Iran to hit her as though she was there again, but without the panic and pain she felt so intensely that day. She had been sent to cover a nuclear scientist five years prior. An explosion sent the car they were in over a small cliff. They should have died but her quick actions saved both her and the scientist. As she pulled them from the wreckage, she kept him safe, she thought, by using her own body as a shield. Only when the shot rang out and the impact from the round knocked her and the scientist down did she realize that her assignment had failed. The bullet had ripped through her and taken him out. When she looked towards the approximate location of where the shot was fired, she saw him for a split second as he determined that his mission was complete.

She took a deep breath to try to clear her head of the memory. For once the memory was clear, but there were many memories that weren't complete and it infuriated her. There were gaps here and there in her life that she couldn't explain. Her parents, for example...she had no memory of them at all save for a fire and lots of emotions. She remembered her foster father a bit and then it was like flashes here and there of things that she couldn't grasp. Training in Russia, fighting for her life, The Winter Solider…James, she had called him eventually, she recalled but had no idea why. Getting shot by The Winter Soldier recently had jarred several of those memories of him and her training within her, but none of them filled the gaps. She wanted more answers and she knew she had to find the "Ghost". She was born in Russia and trained in Russia. That's where she'd start, she decided, walking out into the street.


	2. Chapter 2

The Winter Soldier felt more than lost after he dragged the man who claimed to know him for his entire life from the Potomac. Like the ghost he was known to be, he disappeared into nothingness in an attempt to recover from his injuries and recover who he really was. With HYDRA scattered and disorganized for the time being, he was left alone to his own devices but he was not without the basic knowledge on how to survive in today's age. Going to ground for a time, his dislocated shoulder was allowed to mend. His bionic arm as still functional, thankfully. With his handlers dead or in hiding, he realized for the first time he was free and beholden to no one. Desperately wanting answers he went in search for them. Who was he and what had happened to him to make him thus, he wondered.

It was mere happenstance that he saw a billboard with Captain America's name plastered on it, claiming that the hero had his own display at the Smithsonian. He decided quickly, after assessing the risk involved in such a visit, that it was a risk worth taking if it answered even a few of his questions. He would need different clothing though and while he had found an old Army coat he needed a way to cover his hair still. Making his way to a gas station he found the bathroom and cleaned up a little, knowing that he needed to look a bit more presentable if he wanted to go unnoticed. On his way out, a man had left his baseball cap sitting on a shelf and he quickly palmed it, slipping quietly out the door.

The nice thing about Washington DC was that the museums were free for anyone wanting to visit but he still didn't want to walk through the security that they had set up. Slipping in through a service door to avoid the need to interface with anyone directly, he walked into the Smithsonian. It was almost overwhelming with all the displays, videos and sound bites that played at each display. Making his way over to Captain America's display, he watched and listened intently at every little detail he could glean from it, memories of his childhood flooded his mind in no discernible order. Finally he came to his own display and while the image before him looked like him it felt surreal as though he was looking at someone else. The information there seemed distant and foreign, making no sense to him whatsoever. It was like his mind was blocking every part of what he read and it infuriated him to no end. Even his name, James Buchanan Barnes, felt foreign to him. He cursed quietly to himself. He wasn't a fucking hero. He was no one and certainly not a hero.

Gritting his teeth, he walked out, feeling more frustrated than when he went in. He played out the events that led up to HYDRA's fall in his mind once more, recalling a red haired woman that he had shot. He sat down on a park bench and rubbed his eyes as though it would somehow clear his inner vision somehow. The woman's fighting style seemed…familiar to him. If felt like he was fighting someone he knew. The more the thought on it he realized she fought very much like he did. Lifting the baseball cap, he ran his fingers through his hair and replaced the ball cap back on his head as he thought about his next move. He wanted answers and given that he only spoke Russian to his handlers, he decided that he needed to go to Russia. He wasn't even certain where he needed to go. Only that once he was there he felt certain he would instinctively find his way.

Unable to sleep and too restless to stay in the subway tunnels any longer, he soon found shelter at one of the smaller HYDRA bases he remembered that was hidden in an unobtrusive building right in the middle of DC. He vaguely recalled having been there before. The building was abandoned now, but not empty and shelter was not the only thing he found there. After spending a couple of hours wandering through the cold and empty corridors he found himself in a small room resembling an office of sorts. Something inside of him recoiled at the thought of rifling through the drawers. He forced himself to do just that and actually found several passports; most of which had nothing to do with him, but there was also one obviously meant for him.

It was a Russian passport, issued to someone named 'Petrov'. This name even sounded familiar, he thought, as he stared at his own picture, and since there was no one he could ask perhaps this was a clue he should follow. He knew he understood Russian, and now he even had a passport. Somehow it felt like he had a new mission, something to cling to that felt familiar. Clutching the passport tightly, he rummaged through the remaining rooms, finding a shower and clean clothes as well as some Russian rubles and US dollars that was tucked in a drawer. After a shower and a save he pulled his hair back with a rubber band to get it out of his face. Assessing himself in the mirror he sighed and glanced at the passport picture to see if it was passable. Deciding it was, he left the remains of his combat vest and clothing on the floor and dressed in the jeans and sweatshirt and jacket he had found. Time to go, he decided as he caught a cab to the airport, using some of the money he had found.


	3. Chapter 3

Her contact in the Ukraine, Dmitri, had come through for her once again, gaining her passage on a cargo plane out of LaGuardia to Moscow. The cargo plane was cold but she was used to such. It wasn't until she worked with S.H.I.E.L.D. that she had flights that were more accommodating. Grabbing some food out from her bag, she ate in silence. The plane was empty of people other than the pilots, who were paid for their silence and her delivery into Russia. They asked no questions and she gave no answers.

Alone in the back, she opened up her documents to review them. She had a Russian passport under the name Nadia Ivanov and a dossier. Birth name Natalia Alianovna Romanova, born in Stalingrad, but no birth date. How interesting, she thought. There were references to the Red Room secret research facility and Чёрная вдова or the Black Widow Ops program and something called Department X. It was all rather generic and vague, containing as many blanks in the details as were in her memories. Yet the names of these triggered fragmented memories that she couldn't put into order in her mind. Another clue referenced Ivan Petrovich, who, as it stated in the document, acted as a surrogate father to her when her parents died. It was likely a dead end as he was listed as deceased. No mention of her parents name existed. Yet another dead end. She made a note of the things she would need to investigate once she was on the ground. She would need access to the internet, she decided. After studying what limited information she had to garner clues into her past, she finally set the documents aside and slept.

The 16 hour flight finally passed and the plane prepared to land at Domodedovo International Airport. Even though she had a passport, she knew, just like her departure from New York, that she would not have to go through customs. It was nighttime in Moscow when the plane touched down. The plane slowed on its way to the hanger and Natalia opened the side cargo door, dropping and rolling out of the way with her bag. Under cover of darkness and sprinted off towards the fence covered atop in concertina wire. It only took her a moment to get over the fence. On the other side of the runway lay a frontage road that ran parallel with a line of trees just beyond. She quietly made her way through the trees and found the car that she was told would be there. Bless her contact Dmitri, she thought to herself, smiling, as she climbed in. She started her car and headed southeast towards Stalingrad, hoping to dig up more clues to her past and this Red Room.


End file.
